Storm in a Teacup
by Of Sandwiches and Sea-Monsters
Summary: A chance meeting between Matthew and Mary in the village after the flower show is a perfect opportunity for them to sort out their issues. But will they manage to put their stubbornness and pride behind them? Prequel to the hotly anticipated "Castle AU"!
1. A Chance Encounter

_A/N: Hello all! Those of you on the Downton Forums may well recognize this as it comes directly from the RP there. We are finally getting our act together and posting the RPs we've written. This RP is "special" however, not for what it is (though I hope you enjoy it if you haven't read it before and even if you have) but because of what it is going to lead into. This two chapter fic/RP will have two spin-offs: Firstly "Basket AU" which has already been published on the Matthew/Mary Monday Madness Community (and will be published here soon) and the far more exciting "Castle AU" which is our epic AU WIP (it's currently 50,000 words long and we've hardly got started!) which is COMING SOON. Did you hear that, gentle readers? The main event is still to come and we are just getting warmed up! Hoorah!_

_Anyway, hope you enjoy this in the mean time! _

_OrangeShipper & Silvestria_

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><p><strong>Part One: A Chance Encounter<strong>

After an event like the flower show which occupied the entire village, it took some time for things to settle back to normal. Mary had not quite known what to do with herself. She could not stop thinking about Matthew's coldness towards her. She not meant anything by her behaviour at the dinner. She had never thought of the effect of her behaviour on Matthew. When she got in competition with Edith everything else seemed to fade into insignificance. The truth was, she admitted privately, that generally speaking, her feelings for Edith overruled any other. Now though... did she really value Matthew's good opinion over beating her sister? She certainly _did _value his good opinion - she liked him and - and she really did like him! But even with that concession she could not quite understand his bitterness. It had been a game! Hadn't he understood?

Whatever he had or had not thought Mary did not know and could not find out as there had been no interaction between the two families since the day of the flower show.

For the first time Mary was going into the village. She was tired of being cooped up at the hall with nothing to do except listen to her own unproductive thoughts. Moreover, she had the excuse of taking a basket of food to old Mrs. Barnet who lived in a cottage at the end of the village. One of her father's poorest tenants, she was a widow who relied a great deal on kindness from the Crawleys. Her mother had once taken her on one of her occasional charitable visits - preparation for when she married Patrick and became Countess, she had said. Mary had been bored and resistant at the time, but had later come into contact with Mrs. Barnet on her own and, freed from duty, been horrified at the deprivation she lived in. Since then, she had brought her parcels of food every now and then. She did not purposefully keep it a secret but it was something she had only discussed with Mrs. Hughes. She felt reluctant to discuss it with anyone else though she could not have explained why.

That Monday afternoon, she took a basket of fresh vegetables to Mrs. Barnet's, sat with her for over an hour and eventually left at around five o'clock, in order to have time to dress for dinner when she got back.

As she closed the door of the cottage and turned around, she was faced with a sight that made her heart skip a beat: Matthew, riding his bicycle into the village on his way home from work. Mary felt partly delighted at seeing him after a week of silence and embarrassed at being discovered where she was. For a moment she considered pretending she had not seen him, but she knew it to be futile. She was unmissable. So she waited for him by the side of the road, her hand raised in greeting and a small smile on her face.

Matthew's heart skipped a beat as he saw her at the end of the road. Maybe he could still... No, it was too late. She had definitely noticed him. He sighed inwardly as he waved back, cycling towards her.

Yes, he was feeling bitter. For the first time, at that dinner, he had begun to detect a trace of fondess towards him in Mary's manner. He had been genuinely surprised when she had not outrightly mocked his invitation to see the cottages. Then Sir Anthony had choked. Blasted old fool... It had stolen the moment. But, he reminded himself, the way she had laughed with him after that had been so honest, so warm. It was as though they had shared their own private joke.

He had been impatient to return to her in the drawing room, suffering as Lord Grantham and Sir Anthony droned on about agriculture. She was foremost on his mind. When she had smiled as they entered the room, he had thought... It didn't matter what he thought. He had been wrong.

As he walked home that cold evening, he made up his mind that he would not make himself vulnerable like that again. He could not deny the attraction he felt to her, the way her sparkling wit and intelligence drew him in like a moth to a flame. Yet, like a moth, he had been burnt. The best way was to avoid her. To be nothing more than her polite cousin. That would protect him.

He had had his first small victory in this regard at the flower show. Cooly brushing her off, he was proud of his own willpower against her charms. That was a week ago; he had not seen her since. Reminding himself of his success, he determined again to not be drawn in by her hollow charms.

He drew near to her, smiling politely. Hopping off his bicycle, he observed the empty basket in her hands.

"Good evening, Cousin Mary," he kept his voice cool and polite, his smile wary. "Where have you been?"

"Good evening, Cousin Matthew," replied Mary, pleased at how level her voice sounded. He was so cool to her! She remembered the way he had looked at her and laughed with her only a fortnight ago and felt sorry for it. She had grown to enjoy her conversations with her cousin and to wish to encourage them and now that seemed unlikely to continue. She liked to be admired and disliked its reverse.

His eyes flicked to her empty basket but she was nevertheless surprised by the abrupt question. So much for sustaining a polite conversation on the weather for the remainder of the walk back to Crawley House, assuming he chose to walk with her. She could not help being rather put out by the accusatory nature of the question. What business was it of his where she went on a Monday afternoon? Though perhaps she would not have cared so much if she had not been embarrassed by her answer.

She stared at him rather hardly for a moment and then replied, "You have just seen me leaving this cottage. I should have thought it was obvious!"

Matthew bristled slightly at her sarcastic reply. So, they were back to that, it seemed. He quelled the urge to bite back, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

"Of course. How silly of me. I dare say you would rather I had asked about the weather."

He pursed his lips. Why did she have this effect on him? Why did it matter so much to him what she said, what she thought of him? He reminded himself sternly of his resolve not to be drawn in by her. Frustratingly, against his better judgement, his curiosity got the better of him.

"I am curious, though; I have not seen you in this part of the village before." Berating himself for extending their conversation beyond the necessary, he tried to keep his voice level and distant, as though he would not hang upon every word of her answer. "What brings you here?"

She really had wished he had asked about the weather though perhaps if he had she would have been equally unhappy about that.

She looked at him with a slight frown as he persisted in knowing her business, glanced back at the cottage, stepped forward to close the gate behind her and then looked back him with an expression that could not help being more defensive than she really wanted.

"I was visiting one of Papa's tenants. Mrs. Barnet is a widow and has little comfort in her life." Uncomfortable, she smiled brilliantly at him. "But do let's change the subject to something less depressing than poverty: you have had fine weather for your ride home!" Her eyes twinkled at him of their own accord.

Mary looked away too quickly to see the softening of Matthew's expression. He was intrigued at the notion that she actively took care of her father's tenants, and disappointed that she seemed so uncomfortable in admitting it. He thought back to their conversation about the cottages he was overseeing. Maybe she really would be interested in seeing them?

No, Matthew. He shook himself out of that line of thought. It was too dangerous. He could not allow himself to care; he knew it could only result in getting hurt once more. He would not allow himself to be made out a fool.

In truth, he was annoyed that she should be embarrassed by caring for others. His voice betrayed this as he responded to her flippant change of subject.

"Yes, the weather is fine indeed."

Matthew stood awkwardly for a moment, tapping his bicycle handlebars. He didn't want to push Mary any further, but was equally dissatisfied with discussing the weather. He looked behind him down the road.

"I suppose I should be on my way." Out of force of habit, he added: "Would you care to walk with me?"

Torn between annoyance at her flippancy, and an irritating desire to stay close to her a little while longer, he awaited her reply.

There were few people Mary wanted to walk or talk with more and she could not help the look of hope that briefly crossed her face.

"Yes, thank you," she replied with a smile, falling into step beside him and Matthew couldn't help the little rush of pleasure he felt as she accepted. He wished that her company did not mean so much to him. He allowed himself to enjoy the condition of walking along beside her in the warm afternoon sunshine. Just walking with her could cause no harm, surely? There was no danger to his heart here.

For a few moments there was an awkward silence between them as they walked slowly along. Matthew might have claimed at the flower show that they were on speaking terms, but, Mary considered, there was being on speaking terms and then there was actually speaking.

She glanced across at him a couple of times before asking as casually as possible, "Did you have a good day at work?"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise at her innocent query about his day at work. Was she genuinely interested, or did she ask merely from bored politeness? He looked sideways at her, trying to read her expression, puzzled by her. When was he not puzzled by her!

"I did, thank you. It was a perfectly normal day at the office. Sorting out disputes between business owners and managers, mostly. I'm sure you'd think it all terribly boring." He turned his head towards her, a gentle smile playing around his lips. "May I take your enquiry to indicate that you do not wholly disapprove of my having a job? Of earning my own living?"

Why did everyone always assume she was bored by anything more difficult to understand than what jewellery to match with what dress? Maybe because she was so very bored by so many things. But it still rankled that he would assume she did not care.

Anyway, at least he had something more interesting to reply to a question about his day than that he got dressed, did his hair, read a fashion pamphlet and walked around the garden for a while.

She raised her eyebrows at him, pleased at least to see him smile; it was an improvement. "That's a loaded question, cousin, when I only asked about your day! Why do you ask? I cannot imagine that my disapproval would have any effect on you - if indeed I do disapprove."

Matthew frowned slightly. Why did she take everything he said so seriously? He wished that he had not said anything; he had been pleasantly encouraged by her seeming interest in his life, why must he put his foot in it so?

Trying to appease her, he thought for a moment before telling her the simple truth behind his transparently light-hearted question.

"Because your approval, or lack of it, matters to me. I know you think I am not a gentleman, but... I would hope that I have gone some small way to prove my worth?"

Mary blinked at him, feeling suddenly unsure of the situation and wishing that his bicycle was between them instead of on his other side.

"Why would you assume I think you unworthy?" she replied, only glancing up at him briefly and speaking as neutrally as possible. "I am envious that you have something to do with your time, something that, presumably, has positive consequences for the people employing you."

She could not help the bitter edge creep back into her voice. This whole conversation made her feel so utterly weary and she could not help walking just a little bit faster.

As Mary's pace quickened slightly, Matthew's brows furrowed in confusion. Had he offended her? He thought back over the conversation, puzzling over what he could have said. In fact, her last words had been oddly encouraging; when then did she now seem frustrated?

Matthew shook his head as he caught up to her, remembering why he had promised himself to be cooler towards her. Every time he thought that she was letting him in a little, showing some encouragement, she would suddenly turn cool again. Could she switch her affections on and off so easily? He remembered once more, with a flinch of sadness, how she had brushed him off for Sir Anthony. She had said it was simply a game at the flower show; well, a fine game that was that took so little account of his feelings. And if she could play her fondess so easily, who was to say that she was ever genuine with him?

"Have you heard again from Sir Anthony?" He enquired, his voice cool and level.

Mary could not help being displeased and somewhat embarrassed by the sudden change of subject. She had hoped (though if she had examined her own remarks would have seen it to be a futile hope) that they might have discussed Matthew's job further or she even selfishly wished he might have pursued her own frustrations. But Sir Anthony Strallan! Of all the tedious topics imaginable!

"No, not yet, but he would have to be very keen indeed to visit again so soon when we have barely had time to recover from his last visit."

Her sarcasm was barely hidden, though her words perhaps unfortunately picked. She could not be bothered. Everything he was saying irritated her today. Moreover, after an hour spent with a woman who was made happy by the prospect of a fresh cabbage and whose only social outlet was Sunday morning church, how in the world could anyone think the visits of such a man as Anthony Strallan of the least interest or importance?

"Keen indeed. But then, I imagined you would be similarly keen - you certainly showed an interest in him. Or am I mistaken?"

Matthew thought it was probably a mistake to speak so, but he was frustrated by her flippance when it had hurt him so. He imagined full well that Mary had not been genuine in her intentions to Sir Anthony, and felt that she should explain her actions. She should understand the effect that her games had on other people. After all, he was not the only one she hurt by it.

Mary stopped walking and turned to look at him. The day was fine and birds were twittering in the early evening sunshine but Mary felt the world close in around her. She wanted to shake him. But it was no use. What could she say? There was nothing. Her voice was silenced, because she was a woman, an aristocrat, and ruined.

Briefly she closed her eyes. Then she bit out, "Keen on Sir Anthony Strallan? No, I am not _keen _on him, or anything else. I told you before, it was a game, and I apologised for upsetting you, too. I'm sorry if you can't believe me but I don't know what else to say!"

She wished it did not matter to her that he did not get the wrong impression of her feelings for Sir Anthony, but it did, dreadfully. They had been becoming such good friends!

She turned away again and resumed walking, her heart being a little faster than usual.

Matthew watched her retreating form for a moment. Though he was unwilling to let the matter drop so easily, he was likewise unwilling to reveal his true purpose in bringing it up. How could he let her know his fears that if she could play with a man's affections so offhandedly, could he ever be sure she was being genuine with him? What if her laughing and flirting with him was such a game to her? The thought made him cold inside.

He hurried to catch up to her, sighing in frustration.

"Mary..." Disappointed to have lost the pleasant, easy conversation they had begun with, he spoke gently to her. "I'm sorry to have pressed you on it; it wasn't fair of me when you had already apologised to me." It occurred to him for the first time that she had, in fact, seemed to recognise that he had been injured by her actions. Matthew thought for a moment, unsure whether this pleased him or not. He touched her elbow gently, looking sincerely at her. "A game it may have been, but for who? I would urge you to consider that, next time."

Mary slowed as he caught her up and she turned towards him reluctantly. She frowned as he spoke. She really did not understand him. One minute he was quizzing her almost aggressively about her behaviour and her feelings and the next he was almost nice, though she resented the instructional tone of his voice.

She did not like being criticized either, especially when she privately knew she was in the wrong. How many times could she apologise? There was nothing else to say. She considered making excuses a sign of weakness; a person acted and must live with the consequences of their actions. She knew that better than anyone.

"On reflection, I don't think any of us enjoyed this particular game very much so it is unlikely it will be repeated, if that is what is worrying you," she replied bitingly.

She glanced down at his hand on her arm and swallowed, afraid that she had been overly harsh. She blinked and looked away, feeling sorry for her caustic response when she supposed he truly had been offended though she was not really sure why he should take it so much to heart.

"I hope," she continued a little more faintly, "that you will find some security from that!"

She looked back up at him and tried an arch smile to demonstrate how very unserious the whole matter really was.

Though her words themselves were perhaps reassuring, the flippant tone in which she said them was not, neither was her dismissive smile.

He frowned as he searched her face, finding nothing there that indicated whether or not she was serious. Did she mean him to find security from it? Did she think that he _needed_security from being spurned again?

His hand coldly dropped from her arm. Clearly, it did not mean much to her.

"I suppose I must endeavour to."

He looked burningly into her eyes for a moment, wishing that she could sometimes take serious matters more seriously. He looked away resignedly, taking up his bicycle once more to continue walking.

She had misunderstood him again. Flippancy had clearly not been the right approach, though she was hardly able to understand what might be since she did not know herself what she wanted to achieve. But really, how could she know what to say when he was so unclear himself?

She sighed quietly as he stepped away from her though unable to tell whether the loss she felt was physical or more emotional. She rubbed her arms as if cold anyway as she fell into step again beside him, sneaking a glance at his face every now and then when he wasn't looking. Some times he seemed to really and genuinely admire her, at others he was so cold!

They walked in silence for a few awkward moments and eventually his house appeared in view at the end of the village. She did not know whether to be sorry or relieved that they would soon be obliged to part.

Matthew raised his eyes and realised that Crawley House had just come into view. He stole a glance sideways at Mary; she looked troubled and pensive.

He pursed his lips, wondering about her reaction. He supposed it had been a little unkind of him to judge her so; after all, she was her own master, and it was not his place to chide her behaviour. It did not lessen the hurt caused to him; though maybe that was his own fault for allowing himself to care too much. She had apologised to him, and appeared to be sorry, of a sort, for any upset she had caused.

Resignedly, he shook his head. He knew that the only reason he was excusing her was because he did not want to deepen the strain between them; because no matter what she did, he still found himself drawn to her.

Why did she have such a hold over him? He knew he should be angry at her still; but they were drawing near to where they should part and he found himself unwilling to leave things in such hostile silence.

Though he suspected it was foolish of him to do so, he decided to offer a small olive branch. Warning himself sternly to remain indifferent; cautiously friendly, perhaps, nothing more; he attempted to make peace.

"You know, I have been very remiss," he tried to maintain a light tone of voice in small offer of apology for his earlier words. "How have you fared this last week, and your family? Has your grandmother quite recovered from Mr Molesley's success?"

He looked at her and smiled, hoping to settle the atmosphere between them.

Mary turned and smiled at him the desperate half-smile of pure relief when he spoke to her, and with such usual, pleasant words. She was happy to fall back on commonplaces if it meant an improvement in their conversation.

"Oh, we have been very well, quite as usual in fact, Granny especially as it happens. She seems almost more smug about Mr. Molesley's victory than if she had won it herself!"

She glanced over at him, half flirtatiously, and half anxious that her reply should not be found lacking somehow. He seemed friendly enough at this moment, but she really could not tell any more.

"And your mother? I have not seen Cousin Isobel since the flower show; she must have been very pleased at the result!"

She wondered how long they could drag out a polite conversation about roses. Long enough to feel that he forgave her, she hoped.

Matthew chuckled, half in memory of the battle between his mother and Cousin Violet at the flower show, and half in pure relief that the atmosphere between he and Mary had relaxed.

"My mother is very well, thank you," he smiled appreciatively at her asking. "I fear she will be thriving off the result of the flower show for weeks to come!

These moments where they just talked and smiled together, with no word games or hidden meanings, meant so much to him, though he was loath to admit it. He felt suddenly awkward. The ease felt unnatural somehow; delicate, as if it could so easily be broken by a single misplaced word. He treasured it but was so afraid of breaking it.

Mary gave him a small, sideways smile as he spoke of his mother, agreeing and sympathizing with his assessment.

He looked nervously to her. They were approaching the gate of Crawley House now, and he was not sure he dared to risk spoiling the relatively comfortable ease they had just found. He found that he couldn't be angry at her any more over Sir Anthony - well, he could, but he did not want to be. He must just be very careful with how he trod from now on.

She timed her glances at him well: somehow always missing those moments when he looked at her. He seemed grave to her, which was to be expected and, apart from when he said something to make her smile, she was grave and pensive as well.

"I see we have arrived!" Matthew said, drawing to a halt.

"Yes!" she replied pointlessly. She found herself twisting her hands even as she held her basket and had to physically force herself to stop. This was absurd.

He looked towards the house, then back at Mary, cautiously. It irritated him that he so desperately wanted to spend just a little more time with her. It went against his careful resolve. He could very easily politely say goodbye and walk inside... But he found that he didn't want to. He was so relieved just to be getting on with her again, no matter how tentatively, that he wanted to draw it out as long as he could.

"I don't suppose you would care to come in for a cup of tea?" He blurted the question out before he could consider the sense of it. Desperately hoping that he had not pushed his liberties too far, he raised his eyebrows and tried not to look too eager, awaiting her response.

She looked suddenly right up into his eyes and for a second was paralysed and her heart leaped. It was such an inane question to produce such a reaction!

And yet... it was a first. She had had tea at Crawley House several times of course. If she had brought an invitation, Cousin Isobel had pressed her to stay and sometimes she had accepted (not often - she did not quite like to interrupt what seemed such a cosy family ritual between her and her son), and she had once or twice been invited with her mother and sisters, never on her own, and never by Cousin Matthew.

For a moment she considered avoiding the issue and the awkwardness, and then she found herself saying, "I should like that very much, if Cousin Isobel does not object!"

As Mary accepted his invitation - was that almost eagerness he detected in her voice? - Matthew suddenly felt a stir of panic. He had not really expected her to say yes, and suddenly felt very unsure of himself. What would they talk about?

"I'm glad. And I'm sure my mother should be happy to see you!" he said a little too earnestly, as if to play down his own thrill at her coming in. He sighed internally, frustrated at himself. She had only accepted coming in for a cup of tea, it was perfectly ordinary! Why should he be affected so? He was suddenly very aware that she had never taken tea with them before without a purpose. His heart beat a little faster, hoping that she did not get an exaggerated impression of his intentions.

He was fairly certain that his mother would be in, and he was very grateful for it. She was certainly not shy with her words, and so would happily take any pressure off him having to desperately maintain the conversation. Inviting Mary in had seemed such a good idea for some reason; and though he was glad she had said yes, he was suddenly nervous that the brief peace they seemed to have come to would be broken.

"Well," he said, smiling nervously, setting his bike against the wall before reaching for the door. "Shall we go in then?"

"And I shall of course be very happy to see cousin Isobel," replied Mary agreeably.

"Yes, by all means." Then she stood to one side while he opened the door and followed him inside.

There was nothing intrinsically odd about watching him lean his bicycle, and open his front door, but Mary felt a strange feeling of intrusion into his personal life and a great curiosity. It was one thing to visit and be given tea, another to arrive there for tea in the company of the master himself. Mary was not able to understand this distinction at the time but she did feel a difference to what had gone before and interest in the proceedings which made her follow his actions with a bright, darting gaze.

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><p><em>AN: Hope you enjoyed it and we are always incredibly grateful for any comments. Part two coming soon! :-)_


	2. Tea for Three

A/N: _Welcome to part 2 of Storm in a Teacup, prequel to "Castle AU", which is quite possibly our favourite thing in its epicness! Not forgetting "Basket AU", which seemed a perfectly alternative follow-on to the end of this. This chapter goes a long way to set up what it'll be leading to... Spoilers! ;)_

_Also here, we must very gratefully credit Silverduck, who joined this original RPG thread as a wonderful Isobel, making an appearance!_

_We do hope you enjoy it!_

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><p><strong>Part Two: Tea for Three<strong>

With a sigh, Isobel put her pen down and let her gaze drift to the window. The garden was looking as resplendent as ever, and the early evening sunlight was spilling into the sitting room. The cheerful sight did nothing to help ease the troubles in her mind, though.

She usually enjoyed writing to her friends in Manchester, but today her thoughts were somewhat preoccupied. If she were perfectly honest, she'd say she was bored and feeling rather restless. The commotion and subsequent delight of the flower show had started to wane and she found herself with nothing to do. The hospital had been so quiet this morning she had barely been there an hour! She hated being idle and had hoped writing to her dear friends back in Manchester would give her something pleasant to do. Yet as she started to write, a despondent mood had crept up on her. Apart from the flower show and her victory, she found herself struggling with what to write about.

It was at times like this she missed the company and activity of living in a thriving city. In her old life, she had plenty of activities to keep her busy all day, many friends to visit and exciting places to see. Here, she'd found it very difficult to make friends; not quite one of the villagers, and not quite one of the grand family.

She let out a sigh and then shook her head slightly, it would not do to let these melancholy thoughts drag her down. This was her new life and she had been determined to make the best of it. It certainly had its highlights and, as Isobel remembered the surprised delight on everyone's faces, especially the two Mr Mosesley's, when the winner of the best bloom had been announced, she felt her mood brighten and a smile spread across her lips.

She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and was actually quite surprised at the time. Matthew would be home soon and the thought cheered her further. She hated to admit how much she looked forward to her son coming home and his bright intelligent company, though that had been somewhat lacking lately. Her smile turned into a frown as she remembered his behaviour since the dinner party and the flower show. He'd been somewhat down in the mouth and Isobel's hinting questions had failed to enlighten her on the matter. She had a distinct feeling it had something to do with Cousin Mary though, as she had noticed him behaving cooler to her on their last meeting.

It was just as thoughts of her son were filling her mind that she distantly heard the front door open.

Matthew laid his hat and coat on the table in the hallway. At the sound of the door, Molesley appeared at the end of the corridor.

"Ah, Molesley, good afternoon!" Matthew smiled at him.

Molesly nodded to his master, as he took Lady Mary's hat, coat and basket. Matthew felt the need to explain. "Lady Mary will be joining us for some tea, would you kindly bring some in? I'm assuming my mother is home?"

"Of course, Mr Crawley," Molesley dipped his head respectfully. "And yes, Mrs Crawley is in the sitting room, I believe."

"Ah, excellent. Thank you." Matthew nodded his appreciation before opening the door to the sitting room. "Mother, good afteroon!"

Mary continued to hang back in the hall, leaving Matthew to be master in his own home. When Molesley approached, she smiled politely at him, wondering at how at home Matthew seemed with him now. It was surely not so long ago that he had been complaining about the very idea of a valet. How far he had come! she thought with approval, watching his back as he entered the room. She would have to make sure to tease him about it later - if he did not seem likely to take offence at it, which was rather doubtful these days.

Out of habit, Matthew immediately crossed to his mother and kissed her fondly on the cheek.

"Hello, dear," she answered.

Suddenly, Matthew remembered Mary's presence, and whirled round to her. At once he felt strangely awkward, looking nervously for a moment between her and his mother.

"I hope you don't mind, but I bumped into Cousin Mary on my way home. I've asked Molesley to send in some tea for us all, I hope that doesn't disturb what you were doing?"

Isobel hadn't seen Mary at first; she had stayed lingering in the doorway as Matthew came forward towards her, quite blocking her view.

When he suddenly became a little nervous, though, Isobel looked at him enquiringly. As he whirled around to the door, she noticed Mary standing there, looking just a tad uncomfortable.

To say Isobel was surprised to see Mary entering with her son was quite an understatement. Yet as her son spoke and explained Mary's reasons for coming, her surprise grew even further. Her son had asked Mary to come for tea? That, at the best of times, was quite a shock; it was always Isobel who pressed any of the family to stay when they visited, but considering how things seemed to stand between her son and Mary at the moment, it was quite beyond belief.

Sensing both Matthew's growing awkwardness and Mary's, Isobel quickly swallowed her surprise and took on her dutiful role of hostess. She hoped none of them had noticed her gaping!

She turned towards her son first and answered his question, "No, of course I don't mind. I have just been writing some letters, which is of no importance. I have been thinking only recently it was time for some tea."

Then, she walked towards Mary and gave her a bright, welcoming smile. "Hello Cousin Mary. It is nice to see you and you are, of course, always welcome here. How are your family?"

There was something rather intrusive in watching a man kiss his mother in greeting and Mary felt very much an intruder in the domestic scene, particularly considering how nervous Matthew himself looked when he explained the situation.

Curiously enough, her cousin's awkwardness served to remind her of her own position. She was Lady Mary Crawley and she hung around in nobody's doorway!

Crossing to meet cousin Isobel in the middle of the room, she returned her smile with an engaging one of her own. "How do you do, cousin Isobel? I do apologise for my intrusion on your tea time. I do hope you are well, unimportant letters aside! We are all doing very well up at the house, thank you."

She glanced sideways at Matthew, wondering if he was regretting inviting her. His mother had certainly seemed surprised enough, though Mary supposed she could understand that. It was a first, after all.

As they all stood in the middle of the room, Matthew's feeling of awkwardness increased. He was sure his mother probably wondered what on earth he was doing by inviting Mary in; not that she would object, of course, but she would certainly be wondering at his reasons for doing so! He glanced at her, then looked back at Mary, smiling politely.

"Please, Cousin Mary, I've quite forgotten my manners." He gestured to one of the richly upholstered chairs. "Please make yourself comfortable, I'm sure Molesley won't be long with the tea!" He desperately _hoped_that Molesley would not be long with the tea, as it would provide a welcome distraction; something to concentrate on, at least.

He waited for Mary and his mother to sit down, before hesitantly taking a seat himself. Now that they were here, he had no idea what he and Mary had been talking about just outside, and no idea of what to say to her now. Eventually, instead, he turned to his mother. He knew that she was never short for something to say.

"Have you been up to the hospital today, Mother? The weather is quite beautiful outside, I hope that you've been out to enjoy it?"

Though he addressed his mother, his eyes flicked across to Mary, hoping that she was not regretting coming in. He tried to smile encouragingly at her, before his mother caught his attention with her reply.

There was a definite feeling of awkwardness in the room and Isobel had been racking her brains for something to say. It wasn't like her to be short of words, but her surprise upon seeing Mary, and the uncomfortable way her son was acting, had quite silenced her.

As she sat down, she couldn't fail to notice the looks her son gave Mary and, despite her son's explanation, she was still wondering what had brought Mary here. It was difficult to work out just how things stood between them and Isobel found herself quite unable to continue the conversation without knowing this.

She was very grateful when Matthew turned to her and asked her about the hospital, it loosened her tongue and she was then able to start chatting away quite merrily.

She looked at her son as she began speaking, but then turned to Mary and smiled as she continued.

"Yes, thank you dear, I was able to visit the hospital this morning. It was very quiet though; there are currently very few patients at the hospital. My help was only needed for a little while so I came home early and made a start on my letters." She let out a slight sigh as she remembered her rather boring afternoon, but then she shook of the melancholy memory and continued, her voice more cheerful, "But then in a hospital, little work is very much a blessing!" She gave Mary and Matthew a warm smile, hoping they shared in her small joke, before continuing.

"I do believe the wonderful August weather we've been having has rather helped keep sickness at bay. It does make such a nice change to enjoy a warm, summer's afternoon, don't you agree, Cousin Mary? I hope you have had chance to enjoy the sunshine today."

Mary sat, feeling no less awkward than before. However outwardly nice cousin Isobel and Matthew were being, she still felt she was intruding in a mother-son ritual to which she had no place. It was rather a shame in some ways. She did not really have anything like that with her family, or if there was anything, Edith spoiled it. She had no sense of propriety.

So she sat quietly in her chair with an expression of interest on her face that was frozen in place by propriety, though the more cousin Isobel spoke about the hospital, the more it was indicative of genuine interest.

She nodded with sympathy, murmuring agreement. "Of course."

Then, she answered, "Indeed I have." She glanced very briefly at Matthew, remembering that awkward moment of their meeting outside Mrs. Barnet's. "Apart from my walk to the village, I was able to sit outside this morning. It is very nice indeed not to be cooped up inside all day!"

"As I have been, you mean!" Matthew interjected with a smile. As his mother and Mary had chatted about the hospital, he had switched rapidly between glancing nervously between them and studying intently an interesting pattern on the carpet. Then, seeing an opportunity in Mary's relief at not being cooped up inside all day, he leapt on the chance to lighten the atmosphere.

"You make me quite envious, Mary, at having the liberty to enjoy the sunshine!" Having found his voice suddenly, he swiftly continued in fear of returning to awkwardness. He looked between the two women as he spoke, his eyes beginning to sparkle a little. "You're quite right, it is little pleasure to be cooped up inside all day. I'm afraid my office is very stuffy. Sometimes I wish I could take all my work outside, though I fear my clients would think me quite unprofessional!"

He looked at Mary then, unsure once more of what exactly was going on in his heart. He did not want to care that she enjoyed her time spent in his house, he did not want to care that she would wish to spend more time with him, he did not want to care that she should not regret coming in.

"Still," he continued, his eyes fixing on Mary, a flicker of deeper meaning crossing them. "It did allow for a most pleasant journey home this afternoon."

Mary kept her gaze half on Matthew as he spoke, though she sat up straight and looked mostly straight ahead. Her eyes alone darted towards him. The idea of her cousin taking his work outside and sitting on the grass outside the church in Ripon (perhaps - that would be a pleasant place to work) with his clients was an appealing one, and her lips twitched, as she imagined a sudden gust of wind catching the papers and poor Matthew having to chase them all over the place. She bit her lip and looked down. There was something attractive about the idea - and how she'd laugh if she'd be there! Which, obviously, she would not.

Then as he finished speaking, she turned quickly and met his eye, as she realised what he meant. Her eyes widened in almost panic and she frowned slightly. The moment was over in a second and Mary hoped that it had not been obvious to Isobel. She really could not think what was going on - the awkwardness was insufferable! She should not have come in.

Clearing her throat slightly, she replied with a polished smile and only a hint of doubt in her eyes, "I am sure you will have many such pleasant journeys during the summer, as long as the weather remains good."

Isobel sat and watched the exchange between her son and Lady Mary with vivid interest. If it wasn't for the awkwardness and tension between them, she might have been tempted to smile. As it was, she was growing rather concerned for them both.

For a fleeting moment, the air between them cleared as Matthew began talking about his work. Then, Matthew's last comment seemed to strike a chord with Mary and Isobel couldn't help but notice the sudden uncomfortable air and looks that passed between them once more.

She had a very definite feeling that they were both dancing around the tension between them, trying to hide whatever lay beneath, but not quite succeeding. She wondered once more just what had happened between them and made a mental note to try harder to find out from Matthew. She wondered if something had been said at the dinner party or the flower show, by either one or the other, that had caused offence.

She was rather concerned that the conversation between them all didn't become stilted and that Mary felt comfortable in their home, not only because she was a guest, but because Isobel considered her a friend to their family now. She wondered if she should make another comment about the weather, a safe topic in any society, but decided to remain silent. Perhaps if Mary and Matthew were allowed more time to talk, it might help clear the air between them. Either way, Molesley couldn't be too much longer with the tea.

At Mary's reply, Matthew blinked in surprise, catching the fleeting glance that she sent him. Had she understood his meaning? Was it a shadow of the same meaning he caught in her response, or would that be too much to hope for?

Trying not to be too obvious, he smiled brightly, looking first at his mother and then back at Mary, his head lowering a little as his eyes flashed with deeper meaning.

"I sincerely hope then that this fine weather continues, and that I shall be able to enjoy such pleasant journeys as long as it lasts." His voice came out a little deeper than he intended, and he quickly cleared his throat and looked at the floor, attempting to make his statement more general. "Indeed I think we should all be making the most of the weather while we are able!"

When Molesley entered with a tray of tea, Matthew was immensely relieved. He raised his eyebrows appreciatively.

"Ah, thank you Molesley. Cakes as well? I see Mrs Bird has decided to spoil us today!" He shifted forwards in his seat slightly. "Mary, what would you like?"

If Mary had not been aware of any subconscious meaning in her words, she was quite unable to avoid understanding Matthew, not when his tone of voice changed so strangely and significantly and he looked at her so meaningfully.

The polite smile fell slowly from her face as she met his eyes in consternation and she was quite unable to reply. Had she meant what he thought she had meant? Would she welcome more chance meetings as the one they had had that afternoon? It had been dreadfully awkward, but it need not have been... She really could not say for sure what she felt.

It was lucky that Molesley entered at that moment. Mary swallowed a sudden lump in her throat and looked away, her fingers relaxing the grip they had on her dress in her lap.

She glanced between Matthew and Isobel, feeling guilty at her behaviour towards her hostess. Then she looked back at Matthew as he asked her what she wanted.

"Tea, please," she replied. Then, feeling ungrateful for not being more forthcoming when Mrs. Bird had gone to an effort, added, "And one of those strawberry tarts, if you please!"

Including both Isobel and Molesley she said, "These look absolutely delicious!" She smiled rather desperately.

Isobel had to admit she'd never been quite so relieved as when Molesley brought in the tea. The conversation was becoming more stilted than a dinner party at the great house when they'd first arrived and it was making them all very uncomfortable. She didn't want any guests in her house to think themselves unwelcome and certainly not Cousin Mary, who was far more than a guest to them now. Yet she herself had been struggling for something to say and the interruption of tea was just the ice breaker they all needed. Even though it didn't exactly bring the conversation flowing freely, drinking tea at least occupied them all and the chinking of the china cups on saucers at least helped dispel the dreadful silence that had engulfed the room. Besides, drinking tea always made everything better.

As Mary took her tea and one of Mrs Bird's tarts, Matthew's eyes flicked to his mother. He felt suddenly uncomfortable, exposed under her watchful eye, and fearful that he had revealed himself a fraction too much.

Clearing his throat nervously, he distracted himself by taking some tea. He looked up at Mary's slight praise, anxious that she should like what was offered in his house. He raised a weak, nervous smile.

"Quite so! Mrs Bird has been with us many years and has yet to disappoint!" He sent a quick glance in Molesley's direction, not wanting him to feel that his briefer service warranted any less appreciation.

Having settled the teacup in his hand, he looked between his mother and Mary. Both being quite occupied in delicately sipping their tea, he wished desperately that he didn't feel quite so awkward with Mary here. They had just begun to settle into an easy conversation outside, but sitting here in his living room, the atmosphere felt tense.

But what was causing it to be so? It was not that he didn't want her to be there, he was quite sure of that. He depressingly reflected that it might just be that he did _so_want her to be there, and was far too concerned that she was feeling the same awkwardness he was. He sighed gently in frustration at himself, at all of it.

Unable to bear the silence any more, broken only by the polite clink of china teacups, he cleared his throat. He thought he had hit upon a topic that would be of interest to them all, and not so dreadfully mundane or forced as the weather.

"Actually, Mother, I chanced upon Cousin Mary today visiting Mrs Barnet in the village." His eyes slid to Mary and he raised a half smile, trying to speak light-heartedly. "I had no idea you could be so charitable!" Before thinking about how she might take his comment, he continued, addressing his mother. He knew she often partook of charitable events in the village, and thought the name may ring a bell. "I think it's a very noble sentiment to do what we can for the needier folk of the estate. Are you familiar with Mrs Barnet at all, Mother? I wondered if you might be."

Mary sipped her tea slowly, alternating it with cutting up the strawberry tart into small pieces and taking dainty bites. It was very good, though she really was not particularly hungry. The tea was very refreshing, however, after all the walking she had done that day. She occasionally glanced at cousin Isobel over the rim of her tea cup and smiled, thinking it probably best that the conversation lagged, since whenever one of them spoke the atmosphere only thickened.

She was proved spectacularly right a moment later when Matthew brought up her afternoon's visit in a blasé fashion. She almost choked on her tea and put the cup down rather more heavily than she had intended to, staring at him in annoyance and disbelief, her mouth slightly open. The reaction only lasted a second, then she squeezed her eyes shut a moment and sighed at the inevitability of more frustration.

_No idea she could be so charitable!_What impudence! To assume that he knew what she was about from one visit - to assume that she had not been charitable in the first place! (Was this his real, low opinion of her?) To make a joke out of her private business to his mother! She was rendered speechless with indignation and acute discomfort.

When her son started speaking, Isobel was anxious to listen and turned her attention to him immediately, hoping this would be the conversation breaker they all needed. His words surprised her though and she found herself looking enquiringly at Mary. It took her a few moments to picture the proud and often haughty Lady Mary visiting the poor people in the village. The thought made her smile though and her admiration for their cousin grew immensely.

She was just about to answer Matthew's question and praise Mary for her charitable work, when she noticed her reaction. Mary seemed not only incredibly surprised that Matthew had mentioned it, but rather annoyed and perhaps embarrassed. Whilst Isobel knew there certainly was no need to be ashamed about such kind work as helping those less fortunate, is seemed to be rather a difficult subject for Mary. She decided that glowing exultations of delight at Mary's work were probably not the best way forward and neither was a conversation on the merits of charitable work and helping those less fortunate.

Deciding to stick to a safer conversation for now, she simply gave Mary a warm smile to show how delighted she was at the news and then turned her attention back to her son.

"Yes, I do know of Mrs Barnet, but I'm afraid I do not know her very well. She is very rarely ill, so thankfully we have not yet seen her at the hospital. From what I have heard, she is quite independent and usually prefers to muddle through by herself. Of course, we do try to help with what we can, but one does have to be careful with charity work, it can be quite a difficult subject for some."

She thought it best to change the conversation then and asked her son, "Speaking of the village, is it this weekend you will be visiting the cottages again?"

As soon as Matthew had finished speaking, his words somehow caught up with him. His eyes drifted closed for a second in a grimace of annoyance at himself. He tentatively glanced to Mary, and his face dropped as he observed her understandably hardened expression.

He turned his attention desperately to his mother, in an attempt to somehow forget that Mary was sitting opposite him, probably fuming. He knew. He _knew_ that she did not reveal herself easily, and had seemed uncomfortable that he had 'caught' her in an act of kindness. Why on _earth_ had he thought it sensible to abuse her good nature in the form of a joke? A joke he called it, for he had certainly not meant it seriously! It was true that she had not often shown an inclination towards charitable instincts, but he certainly had never thought of her as _un_charitable, and was distressed that she might now think he did!

Feeling intensely uncomfortable, and unable to face Mary for the moment, he fixed upon his mother's enquiry about the cottages. He hoped this time that he could say something without causing offence, though he feared he had already stepped too far.

"Yes, it is! They're coming along rather nicely, I must say." He raised a weak smile, tentatively glancing towards Mary. "I think your father is also pleased with the progress on them; he's coming to have a look as well." He lowered his eyes to the floor, somewhat ashamed to be praising his own initiatives when he had so unthinkingly made fun of Mary's. "I am pleased to have made some vaguely useful contribution to the estate, at any rate, insignificant though it may be."

Mary was too wrapped up in her own feelings of insult and offended pride to pay much attention to what cousin Isobel was saying about Mrs. Barnet, or Matthew's reaction to her.

When they began talking about the cottages, however, she looked up and frowned again, feeling another stab of irritation. It was not long ago that Matthew had asked her if she wanted to look at them. He had not repeated the invitation, obviously, considering what had then passed between them. But she had been looking forward to it. Looking forward to seeing progress on the estate or looking forward to spending time with him? asked a treacherous voice, to which she had always refused to listen.

At any rate, it hurt more than she cared to admit to hear that the visit to the cottages was going ahead, and it was her father who would accompany him. Well, of course! Papa was so proud of Matthew, so grateful to him, so sure he would be right! Did they think nobody else cared about the estate? Had she not grown up expecting to be its mistress one day? Oh, she cared alright.

She was unable to respond to his hopeful look in her direction with any warmth, and merely nodded coolly, before replying a second later with, "I'm sure Papa would never consider any contribution of yours insignificant."

It came out even colder than she had intended it, and she took another sip of tea, retreating, confused and emotional, behind a wall of icy haughtiness.

Matthew drew in a sharp breath, his face falling slightly at her cold response. He quickly took a sip of tea himself to shield his affected attitude from both the women. He was racking his brains to think what could have offended Mary so now, and was terrified to say anything more and risk inciting her further.

"It would please me if he did not." Meeting her gaze levelly, his voice sounded low and strained.

He looked at her carefully. What had been behind her biting words? He felt a pang of guilt as he recalled her obvious frustrations with their situation. Any reminder of his small, but successful (so far, at least) venture on the estate would probably not be welcomed. Of course it would not; and why should it?

Though... She had not seemed quite so opposed to his project at dinner the previous week. Almost keen, in fact. A brief flash of frustration passed through him. What had he done to warrant such changeable attitudes from her? He knew that he had been foolish and unthinking in bringing up her visit to Mrs Barnet, and joking so thoughtlessly of it, but thoughtless was all it had been. He had not meant it cruelly, and did not think it wholly fair that he should be punished such now for his attempted contributions to Downton. Did she not want the best for it? Would she be more satisfied if he failed miserably to meet his duties?

His expression softened a mere fraction, though there was still a bite of aggravation behind his words. "I have been doing my best to live up to the life I have been granted; it has not been easy. If your father is indeed able to appreciate any small contribution I can make, then I may be reassured that I might not fail Downton completely when it becomes my duty. I take my responsibility to it seriously, you know."

In a more rational and calm mood, Mary might have found something to admire in cousin Matthew's dedication to Downton and his efforts to fit in as future earl. At this moment, however, after all that had passed between them that day and before, she found everything about his speech deplorable. His tone was condescending and his attitude insulting.

Duty... responsibility... contribution... Oh, he did take it all very seriously, didn't he! Poor, poor Matthew with his earldom to look forward to! How hard he was trying!

Mary felt her heart begin to beat faster with cold anger but it was not until she realised that her tea cup was trembling on its saucer that she became aware how desperately she needed to leave. It was suffering under feelings like this that she and Edith had their worst fights.

Unable to reply to Matthew's speech in any way and deploring the expression in his eyes that made her want to - want to - she did not know what it made her want to do, she managed to fix a ghastly smile on her face as she turned to cousin Isobel and put down her cup on the table next to her half eaten tart. "Please forgive me, Cousin, but I have taken up far too much of your valuable time. You must excuse me, I'm afraid I really must be getting home."

She stood up and, without waiting for any reply (for she simply could not stay in the room a moment longer), added, "Please don't bother summoning Molesley. I'm perfectly capable of seeing myself out."

She glared with very repressed fury at Matthew as if he was guilty of something as shockingly inappropriate as disturbing Molesley and swept from the room and the house.

Once outside, she was forced to lean against the door and close her eyes for a second to try to contain her trembling. Her reaction alarmed and terrified her. The extent of her animosity towards Matthew and his stupid, hopeful face and the way it hit her with a flood of hot anger whenever she saw it (and she saw his face even with her eyes pressed shut) astounded her. She had not imagined he could hold such dreadful power over her to cause such a response, though she was unable at present to analyse what precisely it was that had tipped her over the brink.

Pressing her fist to her mouth to stop a sob of anger escaping her (anger that, if she was honest, was more directed at herself than at him), she almost fled down the path, only realising as she reached the gate that she had left her hat, coat and basket in the house.

No matter. A servant could fetch them later. She had no intention of returning!

Isobel had hoped that her change of conversation to something so mundane as cottage renovations would help to clear the air between them. The fact that it did quite the opposite was a great astonishment to her and it left her quite speechless. She was unable to think of anything else to say to diffuse the increasing tension and she was also completely unable to speak when Mary suddenly jumped up and left.

Whilst Mary's words on leaving were perfectly cordial, there was no mistaking the anger and frustration in her manner and her obvious desire to leave as quickly as possible. The reasons behind it, however, remained a mystery and Isobel stared at the doorway in bewilderment for several moments after Mary had left it. It was only after the surprise had diminished enough that Isobel was able to think clearly and realise she'd been quite rude in her treatment of their guest. Even a hurried exit such as Mary's deserved some sort of goodbye from the host.

Still, Isobel surmised, it wasn't really her that had upset Mary so, and so it wouldn't really help if it was she who tried to make amends now. Instead she looked towards her son with more of a reproachful look then she intended. Without having a clue precisely what had happened between them before, it was impossible to know just how any offence had been taken. Clearly though, offence _had_ been taken and Isobel was pretty sure it had nothing to do with Mrs Bird's baking skills. She hoped her son had manners enough at least to work out what he should do, but when he just remained staring at the doorway like a simpleton, Isobel let out a silent sigh of frustration.

"Well?" She said to Matthew, gesturing towards the doorway, hoping the annoyance and reprehension in her voice would spring him into the correct course action.

Matthew could do nothing but simply stare in aggravated shock at his cousin's departure. _Mary_. Lady Mary, so haughty, so icy in her superiority. As she declared her intention to leave and swept furiously out, throwing him a withering glare as she did so, he remained frozen in place, bristling with anger.

Her hostility and her departure, with not a word of a goodbye to him, angered him. What right did she have to treat him such? She seemed angry that he had witnessed her dispensing charity; well, he had hardly planned to! She seemed angry that he had brought it up; how was he to know that she should take offence at that? Her old resentment of his position seemed back in full force; well, he had not asked for it! Why should he be punished by her for doing the best that he could? To be looked at with such contempt in his own home!

And so he stared after her, transfixed. In truth, he was quite stunned that a simple invitation to tea could have turned out to be so disastrous. Why were they incapable of any normal social interaction? She, and his reaction to her, frustrated him immensely. Why was he so agitated and affected by it all?

He turned sharply at his mother's entreaty. Why should he be the one to apologise? He had more of a mind to rebuke her for leaving so rudely! Though he was simmering with frustration, he depressingly realised that he was reluctant to leave things with her so terribly. The thought of her having left, angry with him, instigated a strange yearning in his chest, to right things with her. This only made him even more furious, at himself as much as her.

"Alright…" he sighed, turning and hurrying out. He saw her things by the door; she must have left them in her haste. A stab of something - hate? passion? frustration? - shot through him at the sight of them. He immediately and irrationally wanted them out of his house. Grabbing them roughly, he pushed open the door.

"Mary!" he fairly shouted as he stepped out, then stopped suddenly, his eyes casting around. There was no sign of her. Had she been so very desperate to rid herself from his company? He let out a forceful sigh, barging the swinging door open with his shoulder before throwing her things unceremoniously back onto the small table. He stood, glaring at them uselessly for a moment, before returning to the sitting room, glowering darkly.

"She'd already left." He sat heavily back down in his chair, fixing his eyes angrily upon his teacup in a desperate but futile attempt to clear his mind of her.

Isobel was most surprised by her son's attitude, he seemed positively seething with rage! How could a simple event like afternoon tea produce such a response? Perhaps it had not been the best idea for him to go after Mary, not in that state, so when he stormed back in just a few minutes later and announced he couldn't find her, Isobel felt somewhat relieved. Though considering how long he'd been gone for, Matthew obviously hadn't tried very hard to catch up with her. When he sat down, his fury was all but emanating from him and she was almost surprised the poor china tea cup didn't crack under the weight of his withering gaze.

Isobel sighed. Whatever had happened between Mary and her son, it was clear it upset and angered him deeply. She knew well enough Matthew could stay in these dark moods for days, brooding and moping, seeping the happiness out of the house. It had long been Isobel's experience that the best thing to do was to face these childhood tempers head on. Though Matthew never reacted well to her prying, if it would save a few days of him sulking about the house like a stroppy adolescent, it was worth the risk!

She sat up straight and fixed him with her best determined, resolute gaze, something she'd gotten better at since meeting the Dowager Countess, and said irritably, "Are you going to tell me what on earth is going on, or are you going to sit there sulking all day, Matthew!"

Matthew's head whipped round, his glare with it, at his mother's probing, irritating question.

"Mother, I am not a child!"

He glared for a moment longer, before it struck him that, actually, he was behaving rather like one. Realising that his mother probably didn't quite deserve the full force of his angry gaze, he took a deep breath, his body suddenly seeming to slump, losing its agitated tension. His expression softened and he sank back into his chair, his eyes lowering despondently to the ground.

"I don't know," he sighed, before looking up at her. He looked perplexed and a little sad, the fight having gone out of him. "Your guess is as good as mine, I assure you!" He pursed his lips, eyes dropping to the floor again as he shook his head.

"I wish I could enlighten you; we had really quite a pleasant conversation, considering, before we came in," he sighed in frustration. "I wish she wouldn't take offence so easily at everything I say!"

Isobel had all been ready for a battle with her son, so when he despondently sagged in the chair, she was quite taken aback. It wasn't like Matthew to give up the fight so easily, so something must really be wrong this time. She watched him for a few moments more, trying to gauge just what was going on. His explanation shed no light whatsoever, but that didn't surprise Isobel. What did surprise Isobel was how honest he was being with her; he wasn't trying to avoid the issue like he had a habit of doing. Instead he just looked as confused about it all as she was, and also incredibly sad and weary and still somewhat frustrated.

Isobel was about to say something then, to question him more on his behaviour, but she soon thought the better off it. She doubted any prying now would do any good; he was too lost in his own thoughts and trying to work all out himself. Still, at least the temper had left him.

She smiled instead and said lightly, "Well, you mustn't let Mrs Bird's cakes go to waste; she may not make them again in future. I think I'd better hurry up and get my letters finished. Mrs Giles hasn't heard from me for over a week, she'll be thinking we're quite cut off up here in Downton!"

With that, she got up and walked over to her writing desk, sitting down and doing her best to scribble away. Her thoughts were not very conducive to writing, but at least it was a distraction for them both. She was leaving Matthew free to his own thoughts and she was still here if and when he felt able to talk.

Matthew flashed a grateful smile at his mother for allowing the matter to drop. He certainly felt in no mood to discuss or probe whatever had happened between he and Mary.

What on earth _had_happened? He held a hand to his forehead wearily, his mind puzzling over it all. A deep sigh left his lips as he wondered how on earth simply inviting her in for tea could have gone so terribly wrong.

Why had she become so uncomfortable? For uncomfortable she very clearly had been! But then, he supposed, he had felt so too. Outside, perhaps, they were on neutral ground, on an equal footing. Maybe they needed that; certainly he did, being so uncertain of himself, of her and of their relationship. Not that it could be called a relationship.

He frowned, dropping his hand to clench it agitatedly in his lap. He still felt a small bubble of resentment at her manner of leaving, though he reluctantly supposed that the faults in their prior conversation had been his as much as hers, even if unwittingly so.

But why, _why_ did he _care_so much? That was what bothered him the most. He was utterly loath to admit it, but a tiny voice nagged in the back of his mind that he cared so much what she thought of him precisely because he cared too much about her. And the total lack of control over his own feelings which that afforded him terrified and frustrated him.

He stood up sharply, pacing a few strides to calm himself down. This was no good at all, he thought. If he could not maintain any control over his own feelings and the reactions they produced in him, how could he possibly control anything at all? Once more he felt his life slipping before him, on a path entirely beyond his own choosing, and a panicky desperation began to creep through his veins. He had been so determined; how had he let his resolve to remain indifferent slide so easily? He pursed his lips, determining that he simply must try harder.

"You're quite right, Mother," he said eventually, his voice sounding tense and strained with the effort of resuming normality. "It would be a dreadful shame to let these fine cakes go to waste." He snatched one of the tarts up, and glared at it as it only served to remind him once more of Mary. He sighed, throwing a weary smile to his mother. "Now if you'll excuse me, I shan't distract you from your letters anymore; I have some documents I need to prepare for work tomorrow."

Biting into the tart with entirely more force than was quite necessary, he turned and left the room, desperately trying to think of anything but her.

* * *

><p>AN: _And there you have it! Things are nicely warmed up. Thank you for reading, we'd enormously appreciate any thoughts/comments! Keep an eye out for the sequels! :)_


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